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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23797546">The One Where Hampden Holds a Proletariat Uprising</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bored_trash/pseuds/Bored_trash'>Bored_trash</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bored_trash/pseuds/Henrydefencesquad'>Henrydefencesquad (Bored_trash)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Manifest der Kommunistischen Partei | The Communist Manifesto - Karl Marx &amp; Friedrich Engels, Secret History - Donna Tartt</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>frankly i'm ashamed of myself, im a socialist btw im on judy's side here, this is intended to be a joke</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 23:14:39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,736</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23797546</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bored_trash/pseuds/Bored_trash, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bored_trash/pseuds/Henrydefencesquad</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It had all started so subtly. Judy Poovey had picked up The Communist Manifesto and read it, as she’d confided to Richard before all this truly set off, ‘for a bit of a laugh’.</p><p>//</p><p>Led by Judy Poovey, Hampden students hold a proletariat uprising. The Greek class quickly become public enemy number one, and sequester themselves away in the country house. With every hour that passes, the Marx-inspired students come closer to discovering them. Tensions run high in the country house as the Greek class argue, confront their own prejudices and, worst of all, begin to run out of luxury goods. Will they tear each other apart, or will this experience make them stronger and even more classist than before?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>31</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Prologue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There’d only been whisperings of it for a week or so, but the feeling of oncoming change had been building for weeks, making the campus feel crackly with lightning. It had all started so subtly. Judy Poovey had picked up The Communist Manifesto and read it, as she’d confided to Richard before all this truly set off, ‘for a bit of a laugh’. Looking back, that seemingly innocuous conversation had signalled the beginning of the end for Richard. Henry said they should’ve seen it coming for months. But foresight is only gifted to those who have lived through tragedy. Before it happens, we are blind like newborn kittens - naive, hopeful, unwilling to believe that you won’t be loved unconditionally and given a warm place to sleep. </p><p>Now, they were in the throes of the disaster. Trapped in the country house like sardines in a choking can, the Greek class hid from the Hampden students, who had staged a proletariat uprising against them (which, Francis unhelpfully pointed out, was ironic considering that the majority of Hampden college students were upper-middle class). Their defences were weak, and every day the student body got closer and closer to figuring out where they were hidden.</p><p>Richard shuddered to think of what would happen to them all when they descended on the house. Would they be dragged out onto the streets and ridiculed? Would they discover that the students had successfully persuaded the dean to shut down the classics course and fire Julian? Or, worst of all, would they be forced to shop for groceries at a place that wasn’t Whole Foods? </p><p>Camilla ran into the room, a terrified expression on her face. “Oh god, what’s happened? Have they found us? Are they on their way?” Richard asked fearfully. </p><p>“Worse.” Camilla said. “We’ve run out of fucking champagne.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It had been five hours since the champagne ran out, and Francis was still crying. “I NEED champagne… it’s a human right…” He sobbed into his glass of vintage white wine. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Get it together, Francis. Henry admonished. “Some of us have real problems.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh yeah?” Francis asked belligerently. “What life-threatening problems do you have right now Henry?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“A very valuable 19th-century copy of the Odyssey was stolen from my apartment by those proles and ripped apart.” He said. His voice cracked slightly in a rare show of emotion. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What? How do you know that?” Francis asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Because they’ve posted it all over the Internet.” Camilla interjected. She was sat with her state-of-the-art Apple Mac positioned on her lap. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Francis and Richard leaned closer, and there it was - the book had been completely destroyed. It lay defeated on the oak floor of what must have been one of the Hampden dorms. Richard looked closer, then stiffened when he noticed, in the background of the photo, a Backstreet Boys poster. It was Judy’s room! </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Shit, I really think Judy’s orchestrating this whole thing herself.” He said. “That’s HER poster in the background.” At this, Camilla flinched a little, then steered the conversation away from the topic. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Have you seen the other stuff they’ve put on here? The entire website’s dedicated to their ‘revolution’.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was true - splashed across the top of the page was the phrase ‘LIBERATE HAMPDEN NOW’, with a picture of the communist flag superimposed behind it. “That graphic design is godawful.” Francis said with a derisive snort. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>That’s true, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Richard thought. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It does have the vibe of having been made by some kids that just discovered Word Art and are now going absolutely insane.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Camilla went to the website’s home page, checking out the headers. One specifically caught her attention - it said ‘enemies to the cause’. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What’re the odds that’s us?” Francis asked acidly. “I’m willing to bet my entire fucking trust fund.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Camilla clicked the page and, sure enough, pictures of the entire Greek class flashed up. Richard’s eyes flicked through the photos; they all looked elite - were wearing designer clothes, posing in decadent mansions, proffering vintage champagne to an unseen photographer. Wait, except….! </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why the FUCK did they pick that photo of me?” Richard screeched. It was a picture of him at one of the shitty frat parties he’d attended before joining the Greek class. He was passed out, beer sloshed down his top, a dick drawn on his forehead in permanent marker. </span>
  <em>
    <span>That took fucking years to wash off, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Richard thought to himself indignantly, reliving the humiliation. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“God Richard, they’ve made you look like a real twat!” Francis said, hysterically laughing. Even Camilla, his manic pixie dream girl, chuckled cruelly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fuck this, I’m leaving.” Richard said, turning to go back into the living room. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wait! Just wait a minute!” Camilla said impatiently. “They’ve written profiles on us too.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richard spun around and reluctantly began to read the slander. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>HENRY WINTER</em>
  </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Henry Winter is the leader of the Greek class. I’m sure I speak for all of us when I say I’ve felt </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>personally victimised </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>by him. He’s essentially Regina George but like, unattractive and a lot richer. Jesus. Anyway he is a class A bell end and I think he should be guillotined first. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>FRANCIS ABERNATHY</em>
  </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You may look at Francis Abernathy and think ‘Oh, he’s just some random twink. He can’t be that bad.’ Well, you’d be </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>gravely mistaken. </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>He’s got a trust fund that would fund a small country, and wears some long, designer coat that you can just tell he feels like </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>Edward Cullen </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>in it. You don’t look like Edward, Francis. You look like the </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>bourgeoisie. </em>
  </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>CAMILLA MACAULAY</em>
  </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Let’s acknowledge the elephant in the room. Camilla Macaulay is pretty fucking hot. But does that excuse her actions? </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>NO. </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>She threw a </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>beer </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>in my face once. As we all know, beer is one of the cheapest alcoholic drinks you can get on campus - beer is a friend of the proletariat. So for her to just chuck that symbol right in my face? She’s </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>directly mocking </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>the cause. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>CHARLES MACAULAY</em>
  </b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Ah, Charles. You absolute wreck of a man. Although Charles has a luxury apartment, he once invaded the playground of a </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>public nursery </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>while in a drunken stupor. Is this the type of thing that we can tolerate? </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>Absolutely not. </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>So now even the children of the proletariat can’t exist in peace? Now even </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>they’re </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>oppressed by the rich? </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>RICHARD PAPEN</em>
  </b>
</p><p><br/>
<em>
    <span>This, my comrades, is the most tragic case. You may not know this from how he acts, but Richard Papen is </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>working class. </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>He decided to join the Greek class, knowing how classist they were and just not caring. The irony of it! A person on </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>financial aid </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>cosying up to his direct oppressors. You know what we call the type of person who does that? I’ll tell you. We call them </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>class traitors. </em>
  </b>
</p><p> </p><p>"Oh, fucking Hell." Richard said.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Can Judy make a website for me please</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“We need to bring back the monarchy.” Henry declared. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What the fuck.” Charles replied. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, think of the good old days,” Henry said. “In Ancient Rome, Emperors would have complete control. Elagabalus threw poisonous snakes into crowds - not even when people were rebelling. Just to spice things up a little.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So you’re saying you want to throw poisonous snakes at the people at Hampden?” Richard asked, stifling a laugh. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well. I’m not </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>saying that.” Henry replied. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You know what, I kind of understand now why they hate us so much.” Camilla said quietly. Realising she’d said this aloud, she looked around the room, a poorly concealed look of panic on her face. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If you think that, Camilla, maybe you should join them.” Henry replied, his tone so cold the room collectively shivered. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You know I didn’t mean it like that, Henry.” Camilla bit back. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Before Henry could reply, a crash was heard from the kitchen. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What </span>
  <em>
    <span>was </span>
  </em>
  <span>that?” Francis whispered shakily.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“More like </span>
  <em>
    <span>who.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Charles seconded.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The group got to their feet and ran into the room to see what the disturbance was. Richard gasped - it was a feral-looking cat, perched on the counter, eating a pot of caviar that had been left out overnight.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richard sighed with relief, until he noticed the cat, despite looking absolutely wild, wore a collar. Even more intriguing, there was something tucked underneath it…. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s got a note!” Francis shouted, uncharacteristically moving forward and picking up the cat, who screeched and clawed at him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Francis screamed and dropped the cat, which was now solidly in attack mode - it locked onto its next target. Richard. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Before he could process exactly what was happening, the cat was attached to Richard’s face, biting his head barbarically. “Stupid fucking thing!” Richard shouted, grabbing the cat and slowly prying it away from his face. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He managed to grab the note, also catching a glimpse of the cat’s collar before the cat jumped onto the floor and ran out of the door, snarling maniacally. Richard tried to catch his breath - he had to tell the Greek class what he’d seen, as soon as possible. This cat, he was sure, signalled the beginning of the end. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The cat… its collar.” He gasped.  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What? What about its collar?” Francis asked sharply, anxiety adding a harsh intensity to his voice. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It was red….and it was patterned with the hammer and sickle.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Charles said. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So. We can assume the note’s a message from those commies.” Camilla said, her voice catching a little on the last word. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Read it out, Richard.” Henry said softly, his voice quietly authoritarian. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay… here goes.” Richard said, unfolding the note. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>To the Greek class, </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>If you’re reading this, that means we found you. I’m sure you want to know how we, the proletariat, managed this. We’re so stupid and uncultured, after all. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Well, we found a feral cat. I hope he was nice to you.’  </span>
  </em>
  <span>Richard broke off momentarily, telling the Greek class “She put a winky face after that.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Nasty prole.” Francis sneared. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Who? Judy or the cat?” Richard asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Both.” Francis responded.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Richard continued. ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>We got him to sniff one of Francis’ silk scarfs, and had him follow the scent. We knew you wouldn’t be able to be away from your luxuries for even a few days.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘We also hid a camera in the collar. When the cat comes back, we’ll know where you are. And when we know where you are, we’ll be on our way. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>See you soon, </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Judy xoxo’ </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“She put another winky face at the end.” Richard hastily added. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Bastard.” Henry said, stormily. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
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